


Better

by wishwellingtons



Category: The Thick of It (TV)
Genre: Dressing-gowns, Emotionally Constipated Liberal Democrats, Ficlet, Just Sex, M/M, No Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-27
Updated: 2018-05-27
Packaged: 2019-05-14 12:46:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14769906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wishwellingtons/pseuds/wishwellingtons
Summary: Adam and Fergus have started something. It's going just fine.





	Better

**Author's Note:**

  * For [oxymoronic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/oxymoronic/gifts).



> Prompted by, and written for Oxymoronic!

These mornings were better. Fergus wondered if it was because there  _wasn’t a girl_ there. It was harder to worry how he’d acquitted himself and what his  _performance_ had been when the night consisted of Adam coming on his chest after sucking his cock.  Things were also better without the guilty impatience of wanting to get out; Adam was right there and  _texting Adam_ had almost always been the thing he’d wanted to get out for, anyway.

Plus, Adam didn’t seem to find it awkward. It wasn’t exactly a briefing, but Adam’s obvious (and, if Fergus only knew it,  _determined_ ) attitude of languid-if-pissy normality gave Fergus essential clues about how to behave. Fergus could be bad-tempered while not staring mutely at Adam’s legs, and Adam didn’t bitch at Fergus for over-eating a breakfast  _he’d cooked_. Adam wore Fergus’s spare dressing gown and snorted at Twitter and things were fine until Adam dropped his phone into the pocket of Fergus’s spare dressing-gown, such an antiquated gesture, and weird not only because Fergus realised he didn’t think that dressing gowns had pockets. He’d never checked. Adam cleaned his teeth on the one spare toothbrush Fergus possessed and showed Fergus how to reinstall Amazon Prime and all the time his phone sat flat but visible in the pocket of Fergus’s spare dressing-gown against Adam’s bare leg and both their breaths smelt of the same coffee. Fergus knew Adam was close enough to kiss him, if he tried.

Adam got an Uber before work and Fergus stood stupefied in the morning light, empty dressing-gown over his arm.

Apparently both the dressing-gowns had pockets.

He remembered Adam collapsing against his chest, the shocking slick weight of him, how Adam had considerately averted his face, to protect Fergus from the taste in his mouth (which was Fergus, of course). Adam was always so quiet when he came.

He’d been up before Fergus woke.

It was fine, thought Fergus, fine. These mornings were better.

Of course.


End file.
